


Unstoppable

by thedevilchicken



Category: RED (Movies)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: As luck would have it, Han Cho Bai and Victoria Winslow make an excellent team.





	Unstoppable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UrbanAmazon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanAmazon/gifts).



"Well, well, if it isn't Han Cho Bai," she said. "Fancy meeting you here."

Han chuckled. She had her hand on his shoulder, resting on his tuxedo jacket as she stood behind him; he might have considered that daring, given their location and what she probably knew he was there to do, had it been anyone but her. As it was, he knew who she was and exactly what she was capable of. He remembered her voice. He didn't have to turn to know it was her, but he turned to look at her anyway.

"Dance?" she asked. 

"I suppose I can hardly say no," he replied.

"Do you _want_ to say no?" she asked. 

"No, I don't," he replied, because that was the truth of it.

"Then shall we?"

He took her hand, and she smiled a very pleased, pleasing smile as they stepped out onto the dancefloor. 

The string ensemble was playing a lively waltz and he spun her into his arms, her long black dress a whirl around her calves, as they joined the other dancers. His frame locked into place almost instinctively and quite naturally, his hand at her back that the cut of her dress left bare. He led and she followed; somehow, he was almost surprised.

"You really do waltz very well," she told him, keeping up effortlessly though at least that he hadn't doubted. Her eyes were sharp despite her smile. He liked that. "Do they usually teach ballroom dancing to Korean intelligence officers?"

"No, not usually." He raised his brows. "MI-6?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact," she said. "Or they used to, once upon a time."

"You surprise me."

Her smile widened. "No, I don't think I do," she said. "Not quite yet, at least."

"The night's young."

"My thoughts exactly."

The waltz turned into a foxtrot that she seemed happy to dance, too, her face just slightly flushed and her hair artistically swept by the motion. Once the foxtrot concluded, they stopped, they clapped, and they made their way across the room to the bar. She ordered a drink. So did he. 

"I'd ask what you're doing here, but I think we both know," he said, bending close to her ear with his drink in his hand. 

"You know, I thought this job was turning out to be quite dull before I ran into you," she replied. "You're here for the Russian?"

He nodded. "Yes. You're here for the Israeli?"

"Yes," she replied. She trailed one hand down his chest, following one lapel then the buttons of his jacket. "You know, I have an idea."

"Will I like it?"

She smiled, like a shark. Like a beautiful, bewitching shark. 

"Oh my yes," she said, and they drank to that. 

He believed her. 

\---

"Of all the gin joints in all the world..." he said, jangling his metal shackles against the metal table. 

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a rescue if I _didn't_ walk into yours, now would it?" she replied. She shot the chain connecting his wrists with her silenced Beretta and it broke neatly in two; he stood and she handed the gun to him, then she produced two more from inside her unsurprisingly stylish parka. "Shall we?"

"Do you have somewhere else to be?"

She clucked her tongue. "I have dinner reservations," she said. "Frankly, I'm already rather late."

"Then I guess we'd better hurry."

It didn't take them long to make their exit but they didn't exactly _hurry_ , either. The detention facilities on the ageing Russian military base where Han had been held weren't state-of-the-art - the Russians had tried to make up for that fact by throwing personnel at it, but that didn't seem to have helped so far and it didn't help them from that point on. The two of them danced around each other amidst a substantial hail of bullets once they left his cell - her arms were outstretched one to each side, his gun arm resting on her shoulder and his free arm holding tight around her waist. And when they were done, his captors dead at their feet, she wiped a smudge of blood from his face with a handkerchief. The gun was still in her hand. 

"Do they teach _that_ to Korean intelligence officers?" she asked, her cheeks flushed just like when they'd left the dancefloor, two months prior. He chuckled, his hands framing her waist. 

"Not usually," he replied. "MI-6?"

She smiled. "Let's just say there's a stronger emphasis on the quickstep," she said. She looked pleased. She looked amused. She was absolutely in her element. He'd never known anyone quite like her. 

When he kissed her, she laughed and called him cheeky and then they made their escape; in the jeep eight minutes later, she patted his thigh as he drove and told him they had a full tank of petrol, a perfectly serviceable if stolen vehicle and enough automatic weapons to overthrow a small country, so if he didn't make it across the Finnish border by lunchtime then she was afraid she'd have to kill him herself just on principle. He said that seemed fair and put his foot down hard. He made it.

That evening, they had an early dinner in a darkened restaurant before taking a taxi to the airport. 

"I owe you," he said, between sips of his wine. 

"Of course you do," she replied. "Did you think I masterminded a jailbreak for your winning personality?"

"I hoped so." 

"No, you didn't," she said. She smiled. She leaned closer, a twinkle in her eye that he couldn't say was just the candlelight. "I have a plan."

He didn't have to ask if he'd like it; he already knew he would just from the smile on her face. 

They left together. 

\---

Last month, they killed two scientists in Singapore. 

Two months before that, it was three mobsters in Osaka. Two before that, it was a South African arms dealer who sold them the guns they later killed him with. _This_ was her plan - they were excellent as individuals but together, well, they make a truly exceptional team. 

Next up is a businesswoman planning a trip to the Caymans - Victoria doesn't need a spotter to make the shot across the square with her rifle and scope but he'll be there with her anyway. But, tonight, it's an embassy ball in Washington. They're dancing. A year on from their first waltz, they're still keeping perfect time. 

That first night, back in Paris, she leaned over by his ear and said, "Why don't we help each other out?" Her hair tickled his ear. Her tone made him shiver. He sat down on one of the tall stools by the bar and she ran her hands over his thighs as she moved in between them, and he understood then that he wouldn't say no. 

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked. 

"Not at all," she replied, her tone light but with a current underneath. "I don't use sex as an incentive, you know. I'll be happy to go to bed with you whether we work together or not." She patted his cheek. "But we're going to do this," she said. 

He nodded. He stood, and he pressed up close against her. 

"Yes, I think we are," he said. 

She distracted the Russian at his hotel room door with a tipsy lost lady routine; he came in from the balcony and snapped the mark's neck. She nodded approvingly and they moved on. 

They both went in through the balcony door of the Israeli's suite next, once they'd silenced the bodyguard smoking outside; a brief scuffle ensued with the three men in the sitting room, but it was nothing a well-placed fist to the throat couldn't remedy. Then, she shot the mark with a silenced pistol. Standing there in the moonlight over the body, she was stunning.

She laughed as he pulled her to him, his arm around her waist. She rested the grip of her gun against his shoulder and she patted his cheek with her other gloved hand. 

"Please, not in front of the corpses," she told him, with a glimmer of a smile, and she headed for the balcony. She abseiled very well for a woman in a full-length evening dress, he thought, but he suspected that was just one of many ways in which she wouldn't cease to surprise him. She never has.

Twenty minutes later, when the police burst in after the briefest of knocks, they were in Victoria's hotel room bed. She'd stepped out of her heels just inside the door and asked him to unzip her as she'd peeled off her gloves and tossed them down on the dresser; she was naked by the time she'd reached the bed and his eyes had followed her across the room. 

"Well, are you coming or not?" she'd said, turning back to him, naked, with her hands on her hips, and he could have thought of twenty good reasons not to except he chose to ignore each and every one. He took off his clothes. He went to her, kissed her, let her push him down on the bed and straddle his thighs and she laughed happily as he toppled her onto her back, squeezed one breast appreciatively, pressed his mouth to the crook of her neck. 

When the police burst in, going room to room with the duty manager, he had his mouth between her thighs; she told them to fuck off in her best outraged French and he chuckled against her, her fingers in his hair. They apologised and left, which seemed to him to be bordering on incompetence, and Han moved, he knelt, he rubbed his cock between her thighs, against her, before he parted her lips and pushed inside. She left the gun under the pillow and she squeezed his hips with her hands instead. He appreciated her experience; she made it last. 

Tonight, it's an embassy ball in Washington D.C. They're there together but not _together_ \- it's rather more unofficial than that because, technically, she has a date. But, when the dancing started, she found a way to excuse herself and found her way to him. Korean Intelligence didn't teach him to tango, but back then he'd had no idea that women like her existed in the world for him to tango with.

"Where are you hiding your gun?" he asks her, his mouth by her ear, and that makes her chuckle. He likes the sound. 

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," she replies. 

"Promises, promises."

She winks. He laughs. They dance. 

Later, they'll meet in her hotel room or she'll come to his, or she'll produce yet another key to yet another house that he didn't know existed and they'll spend the night there once she's finished her evening of networking. What they have is a few nights here and there, a globetrotting affair, mostly preludes to a kill but tonight they're not working. Tonight is just for fun. 

When the dance is over, her date is deep in conversation with not one senator but two; she gives Han a look and they slip out of the room together, into corridors to the service areas, up the stairs into a darkened office. He knows she was sneaking through embassies before he was born but they could both die tomorrow so what does he care? He kisses her, only half careful of her bright red lipstick. She hitches up her dress and he unbuckles his belt and he fumbles his way inside her, quickly, thrusting deep, not wanting to wait; sometimes, he thinks she likes sex even more than he does, but then he remembers how much he likes it with her. 

"Frank called earlier," she says, conversationally, as he's fucking her against the wall. "It seems he's in a spot of bother down in South America." 

He forces the motion from his hips and groans against her neck, not just from what she's just said. There's always a spot of bother where Frank Moses is concerned, but he knows they'll go - not just because Frank still owes him a plane. 

"When do we leave?" he says, pulling back to look at her. 

She smiles. "We're wheels up in thirty," she replies. "What do you say we finish this in-flight?"

He laughs. He nods. A few moments later, they leave.

Wherever they're going, these days they're going there together. The journey with her's almost better than the destination. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

Whatever Frank's problem is, he knows it doesn't stand a chance.


End file.
